Scars Like Medals
by BonitaBreezy
Summary: Clint Barton is an Olympic athlete that has been reluctantly roped into doing a spread for the ESPN Body issue. He gets a little less reluctant about it when he meets Phil Coulson, the photographer.


Clint Barton came very suddenly awake in a flood of ice cold water. He wasn't proud of the shocked shrieking noise he made, but he was satisfied with the look of murder he managed to fix on his face.

Or, he would have been, if Kate Bishop didn't meet it with a completely unfazed and unapologetic raise of eyebrows, a large bucket which had previously been filled with the water now all over his bed in her hands.

"Kate," he gasped, his whole body shivering. "What the _fuck_?"

"I told you yesterday, Barton," she said, scowling at him. "I _told_ you to be up by nine and ready by 9:30. It is 9:25!"

"And I told you that I have zero interest in being stripped down naked and photographed for some fetish magazine, but you still…"

"For god's sake it's not a fetish magazine, it's the ESPN Body issue! They only ask the world's best athletes, it's an _honor_!"

"Yeah," Clint scoffed doubtfully, scowling down at the ice cubes littering his soaked comforter. "If it's such an honor, why don't _you_ do it?"

"I'm not an Olympian with four gold medals."

"Yet," Clint told her, because even if she was seriously pissing him off, he knew she'd be there one day. Unlike some people, who promised every rich mom white mom with delusions of grandeur that he could make their kid an Olympian, Clint Barton only made that promise to the ones with real potential. Kate oozed potential.

"Yet," she agreed. "But right now, it's all about you, sunshine. So get out of bed and get dressed. The car will be here in ten minutes."

"Can't I shower?" Clint grumbled.

She glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest in annoyance. "If you can do it in three minutes."

Clint glowered at her, but he didn't argue. Instead, he headed quickly for the bathroom, because he had no doubts that she would come in there after him when his three minutes were up, whether he was finished or not.

Clint had met Kate six months before, when he'd paid a visit to a local archery range that he'd been considering donating money to. He'd found that the range was top of the line and very generously funded already, but he'd also found seventeen-year-old Kate Bishop. She'd been amateurly trained, but so had he, so that didn't put him off. He could see from her first few shots that she had the potential to be great.

When he'd approached her, she'd given him a snappy brush-off, telling him she had no interest in being hit on by middle-aged losers. When he'd told her who he was and what he was offering her, she narrowed her eyes at him and told him that she had no interest in being hit on by middle-aged Olympians, and Clint had realized how _perfect_ she was.

Somehow, she had gone from the girl he was training for to qualify for the 2020 Olympics to one of his closest friends and his pseudo-PA. At some point she'd just decided to take charge of his life, and he'd decided to let her. It worked out well for them, even if she was sometimes incredibly bossy.

He turned the water as hot as he could stand it to try and alleviate the shivering, but he made sure to stick to his three minute time limit. He didn't bother doing anything with his hair because there would definitely be people there to do what they wanted to it. He slipped into a plain gray t-shirt and a pair of purple sweatpants that he was almost sure were actually made for women, but they were super comfy so he didn't really care.

"Clint!" Kate yelled, opening the door, "are you...oh, good let's go."

Clint rolled his eyes and cast a sad glance towards his wet bed, but he followed her out the door without protesting. They made it to the ESPN offices with just enough time to get upstairs before they were late.

"Okay, so here's how we're going to do this," a harassed looking woman with her hair back in a severe bun said. "We'll do your hair and make-up and the interview, and then the photoshoot, and then we'll get some live-action footage of you doing your thing."

Clint suspected that she had no idea what "his thing" was, but he wasn't going to get uppity about it. The only people who paid attention to archery in the Olympics were archers or people who wanted to be archers.

"Okie doke," Clint agreed easily, following her along. Kate made a face at him behind the woman's back that displayed her displeasure, and Clint didn't even try to fight back his grin.

"So go ahead and get changed into this," the woman said, handing him a white terrycloth robe with "Body Issue" written across the back in red, "and the hair and makeup artist will be with you in a moment. She let them into a dressing room that had a piece of paper with his name scrawled on it taped to the door and then left them.

The inside of the dressing room was pretty nice. The walls were a light brown color and the carpet was beige, but more in an expensive sort of way than a cheap hotel sort of way. There was a large tan leather couch against one wall with a large table laden with food and water in front of it. His stomach growled a bit, but he wasn't going to touch it until after he could put his clothes back on. If he had to be naked he was going to look his best for it. There was also a large changing screen in one corner, as well as a flat screen TV and a makeup table with a huge mirror surrounded by plenty of lights.

Despite the nice room and spread that had seemingly been provided just for him, he trudged to go get undressed like he was going to his execution.

"This sucks, do you know that?" he griped at Kate from behind the changing screen.

"Oh shush, you big baby," Kate admonished. She was busy snapping selfies in different places all over the room. "So you're gonna be naked, boo-hoo. It's not like you have anything to be ashamed of."

"Well no," Clint admitted, determinedly not rubbing at his shoulder.. "But it's still awkward. You know I hate doing stuff like this."

"I have faith that you can make it through," she answered dryly, and Clint gave up on complaining. If she wasn't going to commiserate with him, it wasn't worth it.

He'd just barely finished changing when a woman with bright red hair let herself into the room, tugging what looked like a large toolbox on wheels behind her. She was friendly, if not a bit gossipy, and practically talked their ears off until a handsome middle-aged man in a beautifully tailored suit let himself into the room.

"Hi, I'm Phil Coulson," he introduced himself with a smile that made the corners of his pretty blue eye crinkle up in a way that made Clint's stomach flip with interest. "I'll be your photographer. I'll also be doing the interview."

"Clint Barton," he offered, shaking his hand. "That's Kate."

Kate waved from the couch, not looking up from the homework she'd started on a few minutes before, completely unaware of Clint's crisis. How was he supposed to pose naked in front of a man that set off his daddy kink who had a super sexy smile to boot? Things could easily get very awkward very fast.

Coulson didn't seem to notice Clint's dilemma. Pleasantries over with, he turned to get a chair and settled down with a digital recorder in hand. He spoke into it for a minute, saying Clint's name, his sport, and his age, and then turned the questions to Clint.

"So, Clint Barton, a four-time gold medal Olympian," Coulson started, and Clint hummed affirmatively, trying to calm himself down. "You've been asked to do the Body Issue before, and you've declined. What made you decide to do it this time?"

"Well, I didn't, really," Clint admitted, shooting a glare in Kate's direction and almost getting his eye poked out by a wayward brush in punishment. "My friend Kate agreed for me and neglected to mention it until it was way too late to back out."

"So you're not really comfortable with being photographed naked?" Coulson asked, raising his eyebrows as if that were surprising, and Clint couldn't keep back the snort.

"Hell no," he said. "I don't really like giving interviews at all. But I'm committed, so…you know how it goes."

Coulson nodded sagely, like there was a lot of wisdom in that statement.

"Why don't you like giving interviews?" he asked.

"I'm not that interesting," Clint admitted. "I mean I'm really good at what I do, but that's the part that people are interested in. What I do in my spare time isn't really what people want to know about."

"You'd be surprised what people like to hear about," Coulson told him, and his grin made Clint's stomach flip again. He was _so screwed_. "But I'll give you a break. Your friend Kate, that would be Kate Bishop, the athlete you're training?"

"That would be her," Clint confirmed. "She's like nine years old and spoiled rotten, but she's got what it takes to medal in 2020, I think." Kate looked torn between taking the compliment or scowling at the insult, and Coulson chuckled. It sent a thrum of heat through Clint's chest, and he did his best to keep his interest from showing on his face...or elsewhere.

"So, you're coaching now, does that mean you're done participating in the Games?" Coulson asked, looking like he already expected Clint to brush off the question, because he had a history of doing that.

Clint bit his lip and thought about his answer for a minute. It was true that he was definitely done with the Games, but he hadn't admitted that to the world at large yet. Still, it was probably better that he did, and seemed like a good guy. Might as well give him the scoop.

"Yeah," he answered, barely keeping himself from grinning when Coulson's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I kept it on the downlow, because I didn't really know how it was going to work out, but right after London I actually tore my left rotator cuff badly enough that I've decided to officially retire."

Coulson winced in sympathy, his eyes trailing to Clint's robe-clad shoulder, like he might be able see the damage through the terry cloth.

"And there's no coming back from that?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned and despondent.

"Well," Clint said, choosing his words carefully. "I had surgery done to reattach the tendon, so I can actually shoot left-handed still, but with the amount of work it takes to compete, I'd just be aggravating the injury and probably making it worse. It still hurts a lot sometimes." He made a face at that before continuing.

"I can shoot right handed almost as well as I can left-handed, so that's how I shoot with Katie, but I kinda figured it was a sign to stop competing, you know? I've had my time and won my medals. I should give the newbies a chance." He made finger guns at Kate, who snorted and rolled her eyes.

Coulson nodded like he thought it made sense. "Well, while it's a shame that you've been injured, it's good to see that you're taking retirement with grace. We'll look forward to seeing you and Kate in 2020."

"Thanks," Clint grinned. "We'll definitely be there."

"Okay, you're done," the makeup artist declared, moving away so he could look in the mirror.

She had spiked up the front of his hair with a bit of pomade, similar to the way he usually did it when left to his own devices. It wasn't obvious that he was wearing makeup at all, but he definitely looked a bit less old and more put together than he usually did. It was kind of amazing, really.

After Clint was done checking himself out, Coulson led him to the room where the pictures would be taken. There was a big gray screen against the wall that had been pulled down and rolled out across the floor. The screen was surrounded by a ton of lights and had a camera set on a tripod at the front. The designated area was actually quite small in comparison to the size of the room.

Coulson walked through the room like he owned the place, and Clint figured, as the photographer, he kind of did. He stripped out of his suit jacket, revealing wide, strong shoulders and rolled up his sleeves to his elbow to show off his nice forearms. Clint felt his mouth go dry at the revelation that he looked just as hot with the suit jacket off as he did with it on.

Fortunately there were about a million people in the room and none of them seemed like they were going to leave any time soon, so that saved him from worrying about popping a boner while totally nude. No matter how hot the photographer was, there was no way he'd be able to get hard with a room full of people staring at him.

Thank God.

"Okay, you go ahead and take off the robe and stand over there," Coulson instructed, waving towards the little studio area. Clint's swallowed harshly, his mouth dry again, but this time with nerves.

He took a second to pluck up his courage and then pulled the robe off quickly before he could change his mind. He could have sworn Coulson made a slight choking noise, but when he looked at him, his face was completely neutral. Clint winked at him anyway, delighted to see his ears go a bit pink at the tips.

Feeling more confident, he strolled over to background, standing in the middle of it and waiting as Coulson peered through his camera and had people adjust the lighting. He took a test shot, and then the real photoshoot began.

Clint mostly just moved the way Coulson instructed him to, keeping modest by positioning his legs to hide his dick from the camera. A lot of the pictures were him standing posed slightly side ways to keep him decent, but twisting at the middle so that he face the camera head on, staring right into it challengingly, which had made Coulson murmur excitedly and snap a few pictures, or looking off towards the light hanging off towards the left.

Eventually they brought out a bow and quiver filled with arrows. Anyone worth their salt could tell that they were no better than cheap toys, but they looked cool. Clint figured that was the point, so he didn't say anything, just looped the quiver over his chest as instructed and posed for a few more pictures.

"Okay, Clint, take off the quiver, please," Coulson instructed, and Clint handed it off to an intern who hurried forward to take it from him. "Now turn left and pose like you're going to shoot. I want your tattoos in this one."

He had to get one of the arrows back from the intern, but he did as he was asked, suddenly thankful that the bow wasn't a real one. He could still draw left-handed, of course, but it tended to make his shoulder sore for days so he tried not to.

The tattoo in question was of four arrows on his left flank that ran from the fletching just below his armpit to arrow point at his hip bone. Each shaft had a different year that he'd won gold written in it. With his arm pulled back in a draw position, it was perfectly on display. However, the pose also flaunted the thick white scars from his shoulder surgery, and Clint felt suddenly grateful to Coulson for it.

It was one thing to put the toned body of an athlete in a magazine spread. It was something entirely different to showcase the scars he'd gained from pursuing the sport in the first place. The scars themselves showed his dedication to his art, how much he'd given for it, and how it would forever be a part of him.

"Beautiful," Coulsonl said as he snapped a few shots, and Clint wondered if he was talking about him or the picture itself. Either way, he felt himself blushing a bit.

That last picture Coulson had him take was of him holding the bow in both of his hands in front of him, the riser carefully hiding his junk, looking straight into the camera again with the intense look that Kate called his "murder face".

"Perfect," Coulson called as he snapped one last picture. "That was amazing, Clint. Thank you very much."

"No problem," Clint said, walking over to pick up his robe. After about ten minutes of being totally naked in front of everyone, he'd kind of gotten over the shyness, but it was still a relief to slide into it and tie the belt firmly.

"Would you like to see the pictures?" Coulson asked, gesturing to the monitor that was set up behind his camera. He flipped through the first few pictures that were mostly unremarkable. They weren't bad photos, but it was clear that Clint was feeling awkward and posed in them. As Coulson kept on he got obviously more comfortable and relaxed.

The prop pictures were even better. The strap of the quiver cut a dark contrast against his pectorals, and paired with his "murder face" straight into the camera, it made a breathtaking picture. But Clint thought the best one was easily the one that showed his scar. It didn't look disfiguring in the picture, like he'd feared it might, but rather like a stark reminder of strength. Paired with the clench of his muscles from his stance, the dark lines of his tattoo, and his slightly narrowed eyes, it looked beautiful and strong and sure, everything Clint had always tried so hard to be.

"I…" he said, his voice catching slightly. "I love it. It's…"

"Gorgeous," Coulson breathed, and when Clint looked at him he saw that he wasn't looking at the picture, but instead at Clint. Their eyes met and Clint didn't dare to look away, despite the fact that he knew this moment they were having was way too intimate and that there were tons of people around them.

Before he could decide what to do, the harassed looking woman from earlier appeared at his side and broke the spell. She reminded him that there was still a bit more he had to do, and she was clearly not going to be very patient while he tried to figure out what he wanted from Coulson. He decided to just take the risk.

"Do you want to get dinner some time?" he asked in a rush. "With me?"

A cute smile spread over Coulson's face, and Clint's stomach flipped again. "Like a date?" he asked.

"Yeah," Clint said quickly. "Please." He almost winced at the tacked on plea as soon as he said it, but Coulson thankfully seemed to find it cute.

"I'd like that," he said. "I'd really like that."

"Great," Clint blurted, shooting a glare at the woman when she cleared her throat and looked meaningfully at her watch. "Do you have a pen? I'll give you my number, you can call me?"

Coulson almost knocked over the cup of pens when he tried to pluck one out of it, and Clint was relieved that he wasn't the only one who was nervous like a middle schooler with his first crush. They grinned a bit stupidly at each other as Clint scrawled his number on Coulson's wrist. He waved a bit forlornly when the woman practically forced him out of the room, but he went secure in the knowledge that there was more of Phil Coulson in his future.

LINE BREAK

A month later, Clint Barton woke Phil up with a kiss, a cup of coffee, and a glossy magazine with a gorgeous picture that showcased Clint and his scar on the cover. Clint thought secretly that the picture didn't even compare to the beauty of the look on Phil's face.


End file.
